No Words Were Needed
by ItsMeCandy
Summary: <html><head></head>What happens when after years of depression Elsa can't take it anymore? What happens when someone tries to rescue her? Will she trust said stranger , or will she give up on herself? If you're hurting, know somebody who is hurting, or just want to read, read this. One Shot.</html>


Elsa's POV:

The pain, the depression, the agony- it was all too much. Every time I thought about my parents there was this tiny voice that kept repeating itself over and over. It always said the same thing: _how dare you be alive when they aren't? _So now I've made it official that I absolutely hate myself.

I tried drugs and cutting, but they always have the same dissatisfying end result with me still alive. I'm too much of a coward to pull the trigger or jump.

That's why right now I'm standing in the middle of a highway at midnight, waiting for some trucker to come barreling down the highway. I've given up. There's nothing, no one, that I have to live for. Why bother trying? I don't feel. I can't feel. I'm empty.

Finally in the distance I see bright headlights. I pull down the black hood on my oversized jacket to keep my white hair from showing and braced my self for pain.

There was a honk. After about 5 seconds I felt something sturdy crash into my side, forcing me onto the cold wet grass next to the road. _What just happened?_I ripped my hood off my head to see what had pushed me, then gasped in horror.

"No, no no no no no!" I repeated, running my hand through my hair trying to hold back tears. I paced over to the middle of the street. In my place lay a lifeless man's body, his silver hair dishelved and bloody. The driver who had hit him stopped the car and had jumped out of his seat dialing 911. I slowly backed away from the body, shaking my head still chanting 'no'. I tripped, and fell on my backside in a small puddle. I lifted my hand out of the puddle and realized it was blood. Then everything went black.

**~~One month later~~**

According to the police, I need help. I looked at the bottle of pills my doctor gave me. He said they were for my anxiety attacks, but I know better. They were probably happy pills. I chucked them in the trash before walking into the room for my support group. When I opened the door I was greeted by an overwhelming rush of overhormonal teenagers and the scent of cigarettes and alcohol. I walked over to my seat and crossed my legs. My foot bobbed up and down as I thought of the guy that saved me. He died instead of me. I _wanted_ to die. He didn't. I wasn't listening to whatever my group leader was saying. I couldn't. The guilt was so overwhelmingly heavy. I killed a man.

I hate myself.

I always have.

Always will.

Someone died instead of me. No, not instead of me, because of me. He died for nothing. He only delayed the what's bound to happen.

My suicide was inevitable.

**~~Later That Day~~**

I walked out of the help center and headed straight for the bridge over the river it was next to. I got there quickly and stood on the ledge, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. I laughed to myself, thinking of the irony: I was about to do the world a favor next to a rehab center.

"Going swimming?"

I pulled out my gun and twirled around wide eyed, eager to see who had talked. The man immediately put his hands in the air and backed up. I narrowed my eyes at him, studying his face. I knew him from somewhere.

"No." I answered him. " I was about to jump, and don't try to stop me or I'll-" I stopped mid sentence. The hair, the hair. That silver hair. I remembered now where he was from. "It was you." I whispered, mostly to myself. I lowered my gun slightly. All that guilt, all that weight was lifted off my shoulders but replaced by anger. I'd spent the past month feeling bad about myself for no reason? "But you died."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure I lived."

I was taken aback by his sarcasm. He stepped forward, and I raised the gun again. I had no idea how to use it, I'd only stolen it to stop someone from stopping me. "Not this time. I'm doing it this time. I _will _jump."

"Actually no. I can't let you do that. See, I care about you, so you'll have to come down from there." He offered his hand. I stared at it, then looked into his eyes. Big mistake. They were wide and deep, like a child's, and full of wonder and hope. For what I didn't know or care, but I did know his eyes made me trust him, and we can't have that. I don't trust anybody. I can't.

I can't. I can't. I can't. I...

I lost control of my emotions at that point and started crying, but silently so nobody else could see how weak I was. I tried to appear confident and sure of what I was doing, but I wasn't. I was more broken on the inside than a window shattered by a bullet. "How can you care about me?" I asked strongly, masking my sorrow. "Why do you care about me? Because I sure don't! I stopped caring about myself a long time ago, so just let me do this one thing and I'll be out of your life. No more getting hit by cars for you. You should be happy." The words came out all too easily. He laughed to himself. Is this guy serious?

"I'm not kidding." I stated, staring into his eyes and turning the gun to my head. He stopped. We sat there looking, searching for something in each other's souls through our eyes. I didn't want to keep looking, but I couldn't help it. All those hues and mixtures of blues and silvers, sapphires and waterfalls, ice and oceans. They made me trust him, they made me stop breathing. The were so bold and beautiful. I tried to look away, but I couldn't. I was in some sort of hypnotic trance. I was engulfed in the two most piercing spheres in the world.I felt my insides thaw, those walls of isolation and seclusion breaking down. I heard that voice again, but it said something different this time: _Don't give up._

"No." I told the voice, and the man looked confused. "No! You're tricking me. You don't care, you're lying! What do you really want from me?" I pushed the gun into my skull, a river of blood trickling from my head. The man winced, offering his hand once more.

"Look, I can tell you've been hurt, and I get it. You don't trust me. Just... Please." I stared into his eyes.

And kept staring.

And staring.

And stared once more. My whole body went numb, including the hand holding the gun. I crumpled down on the ledge I was on. The stranger pulled me over and smothered me into a warming hug. My crying was very audible now, and I shook in the man's arms. He didn't seem to care that my freshly wounded head was staining his blue sweater with blood. He rubbed my back and started humming what seemed to be a lullaby. I continued to sob. We were there for I don't know how long, his hand circling my back. No words were said.

No words were needed.

**A/N: I wrote this story for anyone's who has ever felt lost and tried to commit suicide or cut themselves or anything like that. If you're depressed and you need help, just know that there will ****always**** be someone there for you. Everyone has someone, even if you don't know it. You have loved ones, you have family, you have friends. And if you don't You have me :). PM me anytime, any day. I'm open and I care, and there are plenty other's out there who do too . Even when you don't know it.**

**P.S: Just in case you didn't get it, Anna never existed and the silver haired dude is Jack**


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